If This Is Paradise, I Want My Money Back by Claudia Carroll Page A

that in real life he’s BOBFOC.’
    Body off Baywatch , face off Crimewatch .
    ‘OK, then, Mr Loves German Shepherds,’ says Fiona, turning her full focus back on to the screen. ‘Maybe it’ll turn out you look like someone saving up for a sex-change operation, but there sure as hell is only one way to find out.’ She immediately starts clickety clacking in her reply, and I’m not joking, the girl is faster than a travel agent at the keyboard. I peep over her shoulder and see what she’s written:
    Hey there, you sound interesting, WLTM. Free tonight for drinks at Dunne & Crescenzi?
     
    ‘Fiona, don’t tell me you’re actually going out at night? Like, without me having to physically put a gun to your head?’
    She keeps typing, though.
    Let me know soonest so we can fix a time, Lexie Hart.
     
    ‘Lexie Hart? What’s going on, hon, are you leading some kind of secret cyber life?’
    Then a bell rings in the distance, and suddenly the place goes from total silence to complete chaos, with the unmerciful thunder of classes changing and kids rushing anywhere and everywhere, screeching at each other. In the space of a few seconds, the staff room fast fills up with teachers all dying for teas/coffees/bitching sessions about the students. Sister Teresa, the principal, strides over, giving Fiona just enough time to snap her laptop shut and look like she’s SO engrossed in a pile of history essays about Bismarck that she couldn’t possibly have noticed anyone come in. I know by how practised she is that this is a very regular occurrence.
    You can do a lot of things, Fi, but you can’t fool the dead.
    ‘Miss Wilson?’ Sister Teresa says to her, at her shoulder now. ‘A word?’
    ‘Yes, Sister?’
    Sister Teresa is standing right beside us now, and my God, you should see her: not one single wrinkle, and the skin all dewy and glowing, like she’d just stepped out of a salon having had a La Prairie facial. And I wouldn’t mind, but she has to be at least my mum’s age . . . what is it about being in a convent that halts the ageing process? If it’s some enzyme that you only produce when in a non-male environment then scientists should bottle it and sell it quick.
    Mark my words, this is how vast fortunes are made.
    ‘I just wanted to say how very sorry I was to hear about your friend’s awful accident. Such a trial of faith when these horrific things happen.’
    ‘Thanks, Sister.’
    Fiona’s eyes have welled up again.
    Come on, hon, whatever you do, don’t cry, because if you start, I’ll start and there’ll be no stopping me.
    ‘Just so you know, we’re all praying for her in the community.’
    ‘That’s very kind. I’ll be sure to let Charlotte’s family know, too.’
    ‘And you know what I always say: trials keep you strong, sorrow keeps you human, failures keep you humble, but only you keeps you going.’
    So, so nice. And Fiona’s always giving out about her, and the way she constantly talks in religious euphemisms. She also claims that the minute school’s out for the day, the nuns crack open the martinis, and that half of them smoke and watch porn. But if you ask me, it’s exactly like in The Sound of Music , minus the Alps and the Nazis. Anyway, she and Sister Teresa chat on about the mock Leaving exams and my thoughts go back to Fiona.
    I have to communicate with her, or I’ll never be able to help her. I have to use everything I learned on my angelic crash course, except without frightening the living daylights out of her and giving her a heart attack. That pleasure I will save for James Kane, thanks very much.
    Because, let’s face it, my work here is clear. I have to find the perfect guy for Fiona. Or should I say Lexie.

Chapter Six
     
    KATE
     
    ‘I was so very sorry to hear about your sister.’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘We all were.’
    ‘I know.’
    ‘How is your mother taking it?’
    ‘Not so good.’
    Next stop Kate. Don’t ask me how I managed to do it; honestly, it’s as if time